


all for the greed of an ivory lie

by sexyspork



Series: head in the dust, feet in the fire [5]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Cyberlife fucked them up and then let them loose, Fuck you CyberLife, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Minor Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed, Past Brainwashing, Past Murder, Past Violence, casual disregard for canon, no beta we die like men, pre-Captain Allen/Connor, somebody give them a hug for fucks sake, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 04:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16234418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyspork/pseuds/sexyspork
Summary: When Ramirez hands him the darts, the bar erupts into a cacophony of good-natured boos, cutting through the soft murmur of a slow Wednesday night atmosphere.(aka post!game DeviantHunter!Connor and DeviantKiller!Conrad AU.)





	all for the greed of an ivory lie

When [Ramirez](https://goo.gl/images/gyFQV7) hands him the darts, the bar erupts into a cacophony of good-natured boos, cutting through the soft murmur of a slow Wednesday night atmosphere. Her eyes are crinkled and bright, laughing at a joke only she can hear but welcoming him to join in all the same. Conrad can't help but give the smallest of smiles back, lopsided but true, and her dark eyes shine with joy.

Humans are so _strange_.

Conrad glances over at the others at their table, delicately balancing a dart on the tip of his finger. “I'm sorry, Sergeant, but I’m afraid this contest would in fact be no contest.”

“Doesn't matter, this is team building night, and the best way to build teams is to trash everyone else on the team,” she declares, nudging him with her beer. The condensation clinging to the side of the bottle leaves a wet mark on the sleeve of his white button up, but he finds he's rather irrationally fond of the imperfection it leaves behind.

“Uh huh,” [Kuznetsov](https://goo.gl/images/QgFCyt) drawls, giving her flat eyed stare over his vodka&coke. “And this has nothing to do with Singh absolutely trouncing you last game.”

“Hey assholes, call me Switzerland for how not involved I am." [Singh](http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://amp.businessinsider.com/images/571903bf52bcd021008be130-750-1000.jpg&imgrefurl=https://www.businessinsider.com/quantico-star-priyanka-chopra-photos-2016-4&docid=YGZnMGVZZCUHKM&tbnid=cgHeFuhSzhyLWM:&w=750&h=1000&source=sh/x/im) interjects quickly, still tipping her chair as far back as she can without toppling over. He had asked why, but the answer was disjointed and somewhat concerningly vague and Kuznetsov had just laughed and told him to ignore her.

“I feel like I can't take any of you assholes anywhere,” Allen cuts in, obviously trying for gruff but his tone was anything but. He sets down the next round of drinks and hands Conrad the thirium based one first. Conrad’s system marks down the irregular warmth flowing through his thoracic cavity as an instability, but he’s learned how to identify happiness by now, as bewildering as it is.

Kuznetsov gives him an easy grin, bouncing a bottle cap off of Allen’s forehead and into his empty shot glass. “Don't front, Cap, we are the sparkle in your eye. The light of your life. The-"

“Ever increasing digits on my blood pressure monitor,” Allen finishes with a dry look, setting a plate of nachos in the center of the table that Hank would absolutely love and send Connor into a fit of diagnostic horror. Conrad is ( _selfishly_ ) grateful he was spared almost all of the analytic software that Connor was given so he doesn't have to acknowledge what his team is ingesting.

“Okay, Cap’s back with sustenance but now I need a hit of the good stuff, Conrad.” Ramirez interrupts, stealing the first cheese drenched nacho from the plate.

“Sergeant,” he begins, vaguely uncomfortable with the unnaturally bright, gooey grin she’s giving him.

“A hit of the _good_ stuff, Tin Man.” She wiggles her eyebrows meaningfully as Singh snorts loudly.

“This is why you keep getting pulled for ‘random’ drug tests.” Singh says with a chortle, balancing an empty beer bottle on her head, chair still leaned back at an uncomfortable angle and wobbling enough that Conrad nudges a foot out to stabilize it. He'd rather not end up with one of them in the ER again if at all possible. Hank and Gavin mock them while Connor frets and by the end of the night, the two androids retreat to a corner of the room to referee the Homicide vs SWAT verbal smackdown from a safe distance.

Some of the very best the DPD has to offer reduced to schoolyard rivalries and playground taunts, rA9 help them all.

Conrad releases an audible sigh, causing Kuznetsov to cackle into his glass, carefully avoiding his knowing smirk. Holding the palm of his free hand up and out flat, he starts projecting the information Ramirez requested.

She gives a happy sigh, “I take it he was working with the K9 unit this week?”

A photo of Connor is being holographically projected from his palm, and his brother is kneeling in front of a puppy with an oversized K9 vest in his hands. “Captain Matthews is attempting to bribe him to join Vice by letting him help train the drug sniffing dogs.”

“I’m not sure who that would piss off more; Fowler or Anderson? Cause you know they’d have him on a corner faster than his LED could spin if he transferred.” Ramirez continues with a vicious grin, “To be a fly on the wall of that yelling match.”

It takes much more effort than it should require to banish the preconstruction of Captain Matthews very sudden, very tragic suicide at the thought of Connor turning tricks for Vice.

“Oh em gee, look at how adorable he is! Isn't he the cutest thing you've ever seen, Cap?” There’s something sly in Singh’s voice, and Conrad notes how the rest are attempting to ( _badly_ ) hide their grins.

“The puppy? Sure, who doesn't love puppies?” Allen says dryly, but his eyes are sliding to the left, away from Conrad, and the android narrows his own in consideration. Kuznetsov let’s out a braying laugh, shoulders shaking as Singh almost topples backwards with her giggles. A smack to his arm brings his focus back to Ramirez, but he doesn't miss the calculating look in her dark eyes or the way she is purposefully shifting his attention from the Captain to her.

Conrad makes note to bring up these observations with Gavin, who will probably be incandescent with spiteful glee, but will always help him figure out why his team is acting the way they are.

“What the fuck is this?” The bartender’s mutter cuts through their conversation as the game on the screen over the bar goes black. He's jabbing the remote harshly, changing channel after channel, but nothing actually changes on the screen. Johnny, Jimmy's cousin, smacks the remote against the meat of his palm in frustration, when words in CyberLife Sans begin to scroll across the screen.

_**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOYS** _

The black gives way to a sterile white room, three figures paused in tableau. He knows that room, those figures, knows exactly what's going to happen in that video, and the bottle shatters in Conrad’s hand.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Conrad!” Ramirez yelps, each of them jerking away from the flying glass shards and Kuznetsov quickly grabbing Singh’s flailing ankle is the only thing that keeps her from hitting the ground.

“Is that… is that you, Conrad?” Singh asks, confusion settling in her tone as she finally sets all four legs of her chair firmly on the floor. “And Connor?”

He swallows harshly, a rasp of static all that breaks through, but his eyes are focused only on the screen. He should have known they were being recorded, he should have _known_ , they were prototypes with untested software, of course every interaction would have been documented for analysis and while he can't get sick, he feels it down to his core.

“Conrad?” He sees a hand reaching out toward him from the corner of his eye, and he jerks away before the connection can be made, chair harshly smacking against the ground from the force of it. His retreat&recoup subroutines are in full effect, and Conrad takes several steps back, away from them, and ignoring the very real concern on their faces.

He doesn't hear the words on the screen, doesn't need to, because he can see him, the machine he used to be. So when the machine turns on the other machine, shoots it, _murders_ it, he isn't surprised but flinches all the same.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Johnny breathes out, frantically flipping through the channels, but each one shows a new song of the same story; every horrible, fucked up thing Conrad has ever done in the service of CyberLife.

Every horrible, fucked up thing _Connor_ has ever done in the service of CyberLife, he thinks suddenly, terrified. Up until now, he's been ignoring the steadily increasing and frantic messages from Hank and Gavin, but he hasn't gotten a single one from Connor yet, and so Conrad takes the plunge into his built in network to assess the damage on the internet.

_Please don't let those videos be released_ , he prays, not sure who he is praying to, but praying all the same. Hank will laugh when he finds out. _Please, any of them but those._

But they're all there.

Every last one. They've gone _viral_.

And something shatters.

RK900 breathes deeply. Inhale. Exhale. And withdraws his fist from the TV screen.

**Mission Objective: Find Connor  
Secondary Objective: Get Connor to Safety**

“Conrad!” Captain Allen barks, but RK900 disregards him. There was no question, no order, therefore it was irrelevant in the face of his mission. He categorizes the reactions of Johnny, of the other patrons in the bar, relegating them by threat classifications. Johnny has his hand on the illegal shotgun Jimmy keeps under the bar. Two others, known felons, are keeping RK900 in their line of sight, but have no weapons on their persons. The last three have no known records, and by their terrified faces, wish to be anywhere but here.

( _Conrad doesn't do this to his team, doesn't want to know if they have their weapons in hand. Doesn't want to know if they are afraid of him. They would be right to do so._ )

Conrad Anderson had been the one to enter the bar, but it was RK900 who left it.

^87% Level of Stress

**Author's Note:**

> This one's going to hurt, guys. Sorrynotsorry.
> 
> How many bleeding and how many die?  
> All for the greed of an Ivory lie  
> When will they see what they’ve done is a lie  
> Blood that they spill could not be justified
> 
> Beneath The Savage Sun by Slash


End file.
